Bloodmoon (The Scarlet Star Trilogy Book 2) (36 page)

Jud sucked at his lips. ‘Yeah, I do.’

The circus master prodded the paper again. ‘Besides, it seems we shall not have to go to such lengths. We may have another new arrival soon, from our friend in the east.’

‘I see,’ Jud hummed. ‘I’m growing to like him, you know.’

‘And I too,’ Yara tutted. ‘But as Kon always said: eyes on the prize.’

‘Blood and gold,’ Jud sniggered. ‘Blood and gold.’

Yara watched him waddle out of her tent before turning back to her pieces of paper. She dipped the nib in the ink again, tapped her teeth together, and began to scrawl.

TRICKERY

9th July, 1867

I
t was noon. The sun beat down like an angry blacksmith who had just found his wife in bed with the cobbler. The day was a sweltering one. Vicious, after the coolness of the damp morning. The rainclouds were long gone, beating a hasty retreat at the first sight of dawn.

Daeven Port was a bustling hub, paying homage to railroad, riverboats, and airships aplenty. It sat like a flattened hive at the bottom of a river valley, fingers of wooden slats and roof-tiles creeping up and out onto the slopes, muddled and disjointed. Two airship towers dominated each half of the city: one in the north, one in the south, both vying for space in the skies. The fat, bulbous airships floated lazily around them, while smaller airskiffs and clockwork balloons buzzed around them.

Below, in the river, steam and paddle plied the blue waters, rippling like a conveyor belt of gemstones in the hot sunlight. Riverboats fought for a spot at the crowded docks, splashing their paddles and props and ringing their bells. Merion could hear them even from the valley ridge.

Plumes of steam bubbled up from the railroad station, deeply embedded in Daeven Port’s core, where the buildings piled on top of each other and the streets wandered outwards like the disjointed spokes of a wheel. Every now and again a whistle would blow and a train of grey carriages would sneak out from between the buildings, running for the wilderness along the gleaming silver railroad. Merion wondered where they were going.

Yara was waiting until she had surveyed the scene in the proper manner. It was very important, the positioning of a circus. Kon had taught her that many years before. Too far away, and the patrons might baulk at walking for the pleasure. Too deep into the town or city, and they risked causing queues and strife. Neither the town nor Cirque Kadabra needed that sour taste in their mouth. No, a circus must be pitched in the perfect spot between the two, neither too close to the richer areas, nor too close to the poorer. Yara was a professional circus master, after all.

Only once she had chosen their spot did they begin to move. The valley’s slope was severe in parts, and Merion helped Lurker and his aunt to keep the wagons from slipping. The worst culprits were those ferrying the animals and their heavy cages. They were tall, and more than once a wheel or two lifted, and shouts and calls brought help running. Devan Ford and Big Jud Jepson excelled, of course, using their strength and sheer weight to keep the wagons from tipping over. The beasts roared and whinnied. Nelle wandered back and forth with a switch of wood, whacking it against the bars and telling them to pipe down with whispers here and there.

It took an hour to make it down to the river’s edge. From there they swung north to their chosen spot, nestled in a vacant field between the port and a busy street on the edge of town. A few tall buildings, no doubt saloons or big manors, were their neighbours. Both types of abode were perfect for summoning patrons.

Yara ordered them to fan out and prepare for the evening. Such few words for a mammoth task, as Merion soon found out. Cirque Kadabra had only pitched and performed once since he and the others had joined them. He had largely kept out of the way before, but now he was put through his paces.

Nelle had him mucking out the cages. Devan had him rolling heavy stone balls back and forth. Big Jud needed some help with his stage. Cabele wanted bunting passed up to her as she capered and catapulted herself between poles and wires. Kasfel needed more paints for her face. Rahan and Hashna stole him away to help with the erecting of the big tent. Jackabo had him dousing rag-wrapped sticks in kerosene. And so it went.

After three long hours, he was sweating so much he looked as though he had snuck a quick dip in the river. That did not sound like a terrible idea at that point: he was sweaty, he was dusty, there were blisters on his hands, and a lump growing on his forehead from where a heavy tent spike had caught him. All in all, he was exhausted. But he had loved every minute of it.

It was hard labour, but it was exciting labour. He knew now how the bones of circus came alive, and had fallen deeper into its family because of it. There had been jokes and natter throughout the work. Merion had even ignored Itch Magrey’s jibes about being as skinny and pale as a ghost when he had taken his shirt off. Only Merion’s arms had yet tasted the sun, not the rest of him. And skinny was true. The summer sun and the walking had whittled him down to something wiry. He could no longer find a single inch to pinch of the pampered puppy fat that Harker Sheer had gifted him. Merion found himself sneaking looks in a trough of water and flexing to see the shallow lines in his chest and arms.

When Merion finally stole a moment with his aunt, leaning against a brightly painted barrel with a cup of cold river water, he found himself gazing around in wonder. Yara had pulled out all the stops.

‘Clever, ain’t it?’ Lilain remarked, following her nephew’s eyes as they hopped between the eye-burningly colourful stalls. ‘How it all opens and unfolds and springs up into this.’

The smell of fresh paint was an odd complement to the smell of the town, the river, and the blooming prairie. Down in the valley, shrubs sprouted white and yellow flowers.

‘Very,’ Merion replied. ‘It’s almost like a magic trick in itself.’

‘I suppose it helps to have a team of rushers about the place, hmm? Devan’s been rushing all day, helpin’ out with the heavy lifting. I wonder how long it would have taken to get the big tent up without him.’

Merion stretched an aching shoulder. ‘Not as long as it took to roll his stones to his wagon,’ he mumbled. ‘And he’ll be rushing all night too,’ he added. ‘That’s some stamina.’

‘That’s practice for you, Nephew. Who knows, you could be up to that level in time. He ain’t a leech like you,’ his aunt said. She had been very complimentary today, he thought. Perhaps she was trying to make up for her quick exit the night before.

‘And soon, I hope.’ He took another sip of his water. ‘So what’s next, do you imagine?’

‘Darned if I know, Nephew. Seems to me like we’re all done here,’ Lilain replied. But that was not quite right. Shan and Sheen Dolmer appeared from behind a wagon, each carting a big wooden box. Lilain stood up when she saw Sheen, and he smiled wide as they approached.

‘Afternoon,’ he greeted them. Merion nodded, watching his aunt carefully.

‘Sheen,’ she replied. ‘Shan.’

‘Lilain,’ the two siblings chorused.

‘What have you got there?’ Merion asked.

Sheen jiggled his box and glass rattled. ‘Shades for tonight. Have a lot of red to give out. Going to be a big show.’

‘And I have posters and leaflets,’ Shan added, shaking her box to the sound of thudding paper. ‘Got to go post them around town. Merion, will you join me? I could use the help.’

‘As could I,’ Sheen cut in. ‘Lilain?’

Lilain looked at Merion, who had folded his arms and was waiting for her answer. She worked her mouth. ‘Well,’ she replied. ‘How about we handle the literature, and you two see to the blood. I’m sure you’ll be needed more than me, Shan.’

Shan shrugged, smiled, and handed the box over to Lilain, who promptly placed it on the barrel. Sheen looked a little deflated, but he smiled and nodded anyway, before departing with his sister.

‘Somebody has fallen from favour,’ Merion whispered as Lilain watched them go.

‘Oh, shush, Merion,’ she chided him gently, not really meaning it. ‘I feel guilty enough as it is.’

‘About Lurker?’

‘Yes, about Lurker. We’ll talk about it later if we must. Now, where’s that faerie of yours? I know how he likes to creep about. Maybe he wants to see Daeven Port before the sun goes down?’

Merion knew she was using the faerie as a buffer, the sneaky woman. He pointed down the path to their tent. ‘I’m sure he would,’ Merion winked, much to Lilain’s annoyance, and walked off. His aunt stayed by the barrel, tapping her foot and rifling through the posters.

‘Rhin,’ he hissed, stepping into the tent.

‘Here,’ replied a voice. A face and a body soon followed it. Rhin was standing on the desk, armour scattered around him, halfway through trying on a bright red tunic. A myriad of other garments lay around his feet, discarded and rumpled.

‘I didn’t know you were dressing to impress,’ Merion sniggered.

‘Enough of that, you snide
harpag
,’ Rhin scowled. ‘I have to be in character. The kids won’t be expecting a faerie in armour now, will they?’

Merion’s smile refused to die. There was something particularly hilarious about the hardened, battle-scarred faerie trying on costumes for his debut show. ‘If only Lurker could see you now. I think he might have a fit.’

Rhin dragged his sword out of its scabbard and waggled it in Merion’s direction. ‘I’ll cut something precious off
you
in a minute.’

Merion held up his hands. When he had finished chuckling, he pointed a thumb to the tent-flap. ‘Skimpy tunics aside, we’re headed into the town to put up circus posters. Want to come?’ he asked.

Rhin looked down at the ring of shiny and colourful fabric he had arranged around himself. He sighed. ‘Yes I do,’ answered the faerie, reaching for his armour.

*

Daeven Port was lined with trees. Merion noticed that first. Whomever ran the town clearly had an affinity for them. Merion was not going to lie: it was a welcome change from the wide dusty roads of the desert towns. Scrawny green trees sat in stone rings every ten yards or so, brushing the stores and saloons with their leaves. The buildings were taller here, still boxlike and flat-faced, but far more ambitious in height. Merion looked up at their huge, lofty signs as they walked deeper into the town.

‘Mr Hammage’s Tools & Wares’

‘The Lucky Buffalo – Saloon & Lounge’

‘Missop’s General Store’

‘Barber Bosum’s Shaves & Assorted Surgeries’

‘Jumping Jane’s Dollhouse – Ladies for All’

And the list went on.

Engines thrummed overhead as a fat airship, laden with cargo, manoeuvred towards the docking tower. Merion gazed up at its steel ribs and throbbing propellers. Six of them there were, three on each side, lined up along the sleek, silver cabin hanging from the envelope’s bulbous belly.

The road led them a winding path into the centre of Daeven Port, where the railroad station was located, thick with busy crowds. A market had been set up nearby, and the trading showed no signs of slowing, even though the sun would be sinking in an hour or two. Merion watched the people milling about. He heard a dozen different languages in less than half that time spent weaving through the crowds. He saw clothes from all sorts of countries, skin of all variety of shades. The port seemed to have drawn the world into itself.

‘So do we just put these posters up, anywhere we like?’ he asked.

‘No,’ Lilain replied. ‘Got to ask permission first, otherwise we might ruffle some feathers before the show has even started. Yara wouldn’t be too pleased.’

‘I imagine not,’ Merion agreed.

‘Now we’ve got the lay of the town, I say we hit the saloons, the postal office, barbers, and trees where there are houses. Alright?’

‘Don’t forget the railroad station,’ hissed Rhin from the satchel hung over Merion’s shoulder.

Merion butted in. ‘Or the port.’

‘Right,’ Lilain pinched the bridge of her nose between finger and thumb. ‘So we’ll just do the whole town. Don’t wander off.’

‘I guess so,’ Merion replied. He looked south before they began to retrace their steps. It seemed that Cirque Kadabra was already in full swing. Merion could just about hear the bells, the clattering tunes, and the whistling above the roar of the town. The music worked like a spell, drawing ears, eyes and, of course, feet.

Here and there in the town, a few lanterns and candles had already been lit. Daeven Port was beginning to sparkle. But it held no candle to the incandescence of Cirque Kadabra. Just a few hundred yards from the fringes of the town, the circus glowed like a jewel-studded crown that had been set on fire. The coloured lanterns were out in force. Bright flames burnt in sconces set on poles. Every now and again a burst of flame would soar into the sky, or a flash of light would pop, leaving spots behind the eyes.

Merion found he was itching to get back. Strangely enough, he could not wait to see the grins and amazed faces of the townspeople. He felt a pride coursing through him, mingled with a little smugness. He could see the strings on the puppets, knew which hat held the rabbit, so to speak. He felt as though he had been let in on a great secret, and felt oddly privileged for it.